It was a slow Tuesday afternoon at the Tim Hortons on King Street. The kind of day where the coffee’s a bit stronger than usual, and the regulars claim their tables like clockwork. The bell over the door jingled as Jeremy, a college student with a flair for sarcasm and poor judgment, strolled in with his earbuds still halfway in.
He ordered a chocolate glazed donut and an iced cap, found a seat in the corner, and started scrolling on his phone. A few minutes later, an older couple entered. They looked like they came here every day—which, in fact, they did. Earl and Mabel had been married 53 years and had shared a double-double and a honey cruller at this very Tim Hortons every afternoon since Earl retired.
Jeremy, for reasons only known to the young and foolish, was bored. He’d finished his donut and was bouncing the empty Timbit box in his hand like a baseball. Then, in a moment of idiotic impulse, he lobbed a crumpled napkin toward the trash can.
He missed. Badly.
The napkin hit Mabel square in the back of the head.
There was a sharp silence. Earl turned slowly, like an old bear disturbed in his cave.
“Son,” he said, standing up with a deliberate kind of calm that only comes from decades of knowing exactly how much nonsense he’ll tolerate, “you ever thrown food at a woman before?”
Jeremy, panicked, sputtered, “It was an accident—I was aiming for the bin!”
“You missed,” Earl said, walking closer. “Twice.”
Mabel, ever composed, dabbed at her hair with another napkin and sat back down, sipping her tea. “Earl, don’t make a scene,” she said gently.
“I won’t,” he replied. Then he looked Jeremy square in the eyes and said, “But you will apologize.”
Jeremy did. He apologized like he was trying to make up for every stupid thing he’d ever done. And Earl, satisfied, patted him on the shoulder with the kind of force that made it clear: Don’t ever let it happen again.
From that day forward, the regulars at Tim Hortons would occasionally glance at the corner booth and chuckle.
Because if there’s one rule everyone learns sooner or later, it’s this:
Don’t throw food at an old man’s wife in Tim Hortons
